


Underneath Her Clothes

by frogy



Category: Big Time Rush
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-05
Updated: 2011-11-05
Packaged: 2017-10-25 17:23:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frogy/pseuds/frogy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The next step is Camille leaning back into his hand, turning to whisper in his ear. What she says doesn't normally matter. It's all a well practiced routine for the paparazzi. Except this time, Camille says, "I'm not wearing any underwear."</p><p>A sequel to queenitsy's <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/245786">Rhinestone</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Underneath Her Clothes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queenitsy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenitsy/gifts).



> This is a sequel to queenitsy's [Rhinestone](http://archiveofourown.org/works/245786), so you want to read that first. This picks up right after Rhinestone ends and then proceeds to be almost entirely porn.
> 
> [Here's](http://www.elle.com/Elle-Shops/Elle-Shops/ELLE-Shops-40s-Style-Dresses/%28imageIndex%29/1/%28play%29/false#mode=base;slide=1) [the](http://fashionslop.files.wordpress.com/2011/06/larafrida9-voguejuly2011.jpg?w=600&h=816) [dress](http://1940sthrowback.tumblr.com/post/9596476927/horst-diekgerdes-for-vogue-germany) Camille is wearing at the gala.

At first, James is disappointed that Camille didn't come with him. It's always hard when they're together and then one of them has to leave. His skin misses hers and it's a miracle he makes it to the police station in one piece, mind so wrapped up in Camille he's paying no attention to the road in front of him. Camille lounging around his condo, naked under the dress she was wearing when she arrived, panties balled up on his bedroom floor. He wants to be there with her. Or her here with him, so he could reach over to the passenger seat and rest his hand on her bare knee, fingers curling round to the delicate skin of her inner thigh in that probably the annoying way he's been told is too touchy feely in public, but no one would know just how close he'd be to fingering her right there in the car.

Then he gets to the police station and his fantasy is summarily killed. The police station smells of stale, institutional air. The florescent lights make even James's perfect mangerine tan look pale and sallow. It couldn't be less sexy if it tried and he's glad Camille isn't there to see it. Bailing people out of jail involves filling out a million pages of paperwork and then waiting on uncomfortable plastic chairs while it all gets filed. It's boring as fuck and Kendall, Carlos, and Logan are going to owe him big time.

It's closer to morning than not when James gets back, and it's impossible for him to ever be finding Camille on his couch, but he'd been holding on to his fantasy Camille. Instead, she's sitting cross-legged on the couch in a pair of his boxers and a white v-neck t-shirt. She must have showered, face clear of makeup and hair wet, in a messy bun on the top of her head.

"You showered," he says, collapsing back onto the couch next to her.

"I slept for a while," she says. "When I woke up and you still weren't back I figured I'd wait up for you, but I was all sticky and gross."

"Mmm," he says, "remind me to never get arrested."

"It was that bad?" Camille asks.

"The only thing that got me through it was thinking about you here, going commando because I got you so wet you had to take off your panties."

"Sorry to ruin your fantasy," Camille says, moving to straddle his lap, facing him, sitting back on his knees, hands at his shoulders. "It sounds like you had a bad night, but this is okay too, right?

James fists his hands in the back of the too-big t-shirt she's wearing, so he's got all the extra fabric bunched up in his hands. Like this he can see her nipples straining against the thin fabric. "Yea, this is good," he says before he pulls her forward to kiss her.

\---

It's not that he forgets about it per se. It's just that a lot of other things happen in the meantime.

James goes on a club tour to promote the album. He's in New York for Fashion's Night Out signing at Topshop and he picks up these incredible Fleuvog boots for Camille that are half dominatrix, half Moulin Rouge can-can girl. They go to Heidi Klum's Halloween party as Lois Lane and Clark Kent and the Hypnotiq Halloween bash as a sexy firefighter and dude-sel in distress. James and Camille spend Thanksgiving and Christmas apart, at home with their own families, but New Years together sunbathing topless on a private island they rent off the coast of Greece. The new year kicks off with them dealing with paparazzi photos of their New Years vacation. Then, James accidentally adopts a puppy, which leads to him not so accidentally becoming the newest celebrity ambassador for the greater LA ASPCA. So, it's been a busy six months.

He's finally back in LA, in rehearsals for tour. He's about to open for Katy Perry on the US dates of her upcoming world tour, and it's a bigger show than he's used to, even bigger than BTR used to be. Camille is in town too for table reads of the new rom-com she's starring in opposite Dak Zevon.

But today he has the day off from tour rehearsal for his ambassadorial duties. He's spent all day playing with Bari (short for Barracuda) and the puppies at the shelter. And tonight Camille's accompanying him to a benefit gala. He and Katie, who's managing both of them now, pick her up in the limo at six.

"How'd the table read go?" Katie asks as Camille climbs into the back of the limo, throwing her purse over to Katie so that Camille doesn't need to carry it on the red carpet.

"Great," Camille says, sliding in closer to James on the limo's bench. "So, what do you think?" Camille asks. James knows she's asking about the outfit. The dress is more conservative than she usually wears, a magenta-burgundy color and white and blue pattern, with a high neck and leather peter pan collar. The skirt swings away from her body as she walks and the hemline falls just under the knees.

"I like it," he says. "It's different," and then because he realizes he'd be angry at anyone who said that about his outfit he continues with, "Very high fashion."

"Thanks," Camille says with a devious quirk of a smile. That's a dangerous smile, but James has no idea what it could be for.

They fall into conversation about their days, completely aware that Katie is there solely to make sure they don't fuck in the limo and wreck their styling before they get there.

You show up to one red carpet with sex hair and you're manager never lets you forget it.

The gala isn't a big enough event to cause any more traffic than LA normally has, and eventually they get there. Camille steps out of the limo first. James gets out behind her, placing a hand on the small of her back in a familiar, well practiced way.

The next step is Camille leaning back into his hand, turning to whisper in his ear. What she says doesn't matter. It's all a well practiced routine. It's the pictures that matter. Before they go get their pictures taken for all the Joan Rivers of the world, there are tabloids. These are the pictures that run in the tabloids, the ones analyzing their body language and star signs, declaring one week that they're headed for the alter (not true yet) and the next that they're about to break up due to mutual cheating with their co-stars.

Except this time, Camille says, "I'm not wearing any underwear," and it changes everything. Almost retroactively James realizes how hot and low her voice is against his ear. His hand on her back is hot and damp with sweat and he wants her so much. Forget Katie, the limo is still right behind them. It wouldn't even take long.

Except Camille is stepping out of his arms onto the red carpet. She gives him one last filthy smile before turning to pose for the shouts of "Camille! Camille! Over here Camille!" from the photo pit. James can't believe she left him to walk the line like this. But ever the consummate professional he takes a deep breath and goes to have his picture taken.

\---

Camille's loitering in the lobby, waiting for James at the other end of the red carpet.

"I can't believe you did that," he says, grabbing her around the waist, crowding into her personal space.

Camille's hands come up to grab his shoulders, steadying herself as she takes a step backwards with the force of James' enthusiasm. He takes another step forward to close the gap. Camille steps back again, and they fall into a pattern moving across the lobby.

They're so close he has to look down to see her mouth when she speaks. "Got you hot and bothered, didn't it?" she says, another low whisper. Her lips are shiny dark red with lipstick. And when she smirks so sure of herself her teeth flash a shocking white contrast.

"You know it," he growls, already too desperate to play along.

"You wanna see?" she asks.

James is about to ask where because it's not even a question that he's on board with whatever plan Camille has come up with when he looks up. While James has been moving blindly, Camille has lead them backwards to the doorway of the restrooms. He spares a quick glance over his shoulder to see if anyone's watching them, not that it would make a difference, before looking back at Camille and nodding.

Camille pulls James with her as she pushes the door open with her back into the women's restroom. She breaks away just long enough to lock the door, before grabbing James again, surging up to kiss him. This time it's his turn to stumble backwards, into the stretch of black marble counter. James sits back, the gleaming white basin sink behind him digging into his lower back.

Camille is taller than James like this. She tangles her hands in his hair, keeping him right where she wants him, baring down into the kiss, standing between James' legs, pressed together all along the front. She can feel how much he wants her. One layer less of clothing shouldn't make a difference, but it does, the heat between them incendiary. She bites down on his lower lip and James gasps into her mouth.

They're kissing deep and open-mouthed, no time to waste. James has his arms wrapped around Camille, hands fisting open and closed, holding her against him, even though she's not going anywhere. Somewhere in the haze of want he remembers that he was promised a show, and he trails his hands down the back of Camille's thighs, bunching up the fabric of her dress until he can slip his hands under the hem. He moves his hands up the smooth skin of her legs, fingers wrapped around to the inside of her thighs, until he reaches the juncture of her legs and there's no familiar fabric barrier.

James didn't think he could want Camille any more than he already did, but he was wrong. He grabs her bare ass and thrusts up, mouth wrenching away from hers. "Camille," he groans, "I need-"

"Yeah," she says, grinding forward to match his movement, head thrown back, so tempting that James has to lean in and taste the long column of her neck. She startles at that and pulls back, head seeming to clear enough to say, "No, no wait."

Camille swats his hands away and takes a step back. But before James can ask what she's doing, Camille's sinking to her knees, hands coming up to undo his fly.

Camille doesn't waste any time, taking his dick in her mouth, wrapping one hand around the base, and sucking. Her lipstick red lips are obscene stretched around him and she knows it, eyes shamelessly meeting his when he looks down. It's hot and wet and they're in a public bathroom and Camille's not wearing any panties and it's all too much. James's legs tremble and his hands grasp frantically at the sink behind him. He feels his balls tighten and it's all over. He comes with a groan, Camille swallowing down the mess, before sitting back on her heels.

James slumps back, leaning heavily against the counter. Camille stands up and moves out of the V of his legs to stand next to him.

"Hey," James says like a breath, reaching out for her with one hand, letting it rest where it falls on her stomach. "You're incredible."

"Thanks," she says. She doesn't look at James when she speaks, studying her reflection in the mirror, but she smiles her appreciation.

"What do you want?" he asks. "Give me a sec and it's your turn."

"We don't have time. You're the guest of honor out there," she says, tilting her head in the direction of the door. Then she leans in to study her reflection more intently. Her mouth is parted and she touches her lower lip. The lipstick is worn off and smudged in places, her lips puffy and used. "Actually, go get my bag from Katie," she says.

"Come on," James says taking her hand and pulling her into his arms. James presses a quick kiss on her lips. "Please?" he asks, with a puppy dog expression on his face. He's not above using the face for nefarious purposes.

"Later," she says, with a peck of a kiss. "I promise."

"Okay," he pouts. "Be right back," he says, leaving to get Camille's bag for her.

\---

It almost doesn't help at all that he's already got to come tonight because he is acutely aware of Camille right there, not wearing underwear. James gets a drink from the bar and Camille is not wearing panties. He makes small talk with LA ASPCA donors and Camille is not wearing panties. He sits next Camille at dinner and she's not wearing panties.

The tables for dinner have standard banquet to the floor table cloths. They're listening to the president thank them all for their support and blah-de-blah-blah. James reaches over and puts a hand on Camille's knee. He's looking at Camille, waiting for a response. She glances at him, and he quickly pretends to be watching the speaker. There's nothing to see here; this is totally normal, touchy-feely behavior.

Or, it is until James slips his hand under the skirt of her dress. He moves slowly. This is a stealth mission over the ridge of her kneecap and the scar on her knee she still has from learning to ride a bike as a kid. His hand creeps over the knee and dips down to the inside of her leg, detouring to the place that makes her jump when James bites down there while kissing his way up her legs. He feels the muscle in her leg twitch when his thumb strokes back and forth, once, twice, over the spot, before continuing on its path.

He moves up the smooth skin of her thigh little by little. Camille shifts in her seat, James's hand a tantalizing tease, and his hand shifts up then down as she resettles herself. James glances over at Camille again. Is she really going to let James do this? She still has her attentive face on, from the outside completely focussed on the speaker. James had checked out ages ago, even before he reached out for Camille. But she looks like she's soaking up every word, even though the way she's started shifting in her seat means she's not as unaffected as she's pretending.

James's hand creeps ever higher, just a few more inches to go when he's stopped in his tracks by Camille. Her hand has grabbed his through her dress, and this time when he looks at Camille she's giving him a punishing look. He just looks at her, frozen in his tracks, until Camille starts pushing his hand back down and out from under her skirt.

\---

They're back in the limo, Katie-less now that they've done their appearance for the night and can be as irresponsible as they want, and James is going to die if Camille doesn't let him touch her soon. The whole night has been one never-ending tease at the dinner table, Camille pushing his hands away every time he got too close. He doesn't know if he should make a move now. The back of a limo has been private enough for them in the past, but Camille clearly has an evil plan for tonight, and he doesn't know if it's going to require them to wait to get home.

They're pressed together from where they're sitting next to each other on the bench seat. James hooks his foot around the back of Camille's ankle, and it's a good sign when Camille lets her legs fall open so that James can tease his foot up along the inside of her calf. Camille moves the leg that's already twined with James's so that it's thrown over his, leaving her almost straddling his leg. James steadies her with a hand on her thigh and rocks his knee up, not quite where he needs to be to rub up against Camille's cunt, but close, and from this vantage point he can feel the way her body shudders at it.

He's surprised at how his voice is wet and breathy when he leans in and asks, "Are you finally going to let me get you off?"

"Why don't you try and find out?" she says. It starts teasing, Camille arching her back into him, rocking down on his leg, but the effects is lost when she loses herself in a choked off groan, rocking down again.

"Nuh-uh," James says, twisting out from under Camille. "I've been waiting all night to do this." What ''this' is becomes obvious when James pushes her back into the limo's leather seat as he slides to his knees in front of her.

He ducks down, lifting up the bottom of her dress, the fabric of the skirt settling over his head. James pulls at Camille's knees, putting her legs over his shoulders so he can dive in and give a teasing lick to her pussy. Camille is already wet, not as unaffected by the whole night as she was pretending, and in the warm, dark folds of her skirt the smell is heady. James loves doing this, could go right for it and get her off quickly, but turn about is fair play. So he keeps it light and teasing, barely touching her clit with his long, slow licking, eating up her taste.

James can feel her hands settle on his head over the material of her dress, Camille's fingers twitching as she holds herself back from doing more. If the dress weren't there, her fingers would be tangled in his hair, pulling him this way and that, until he were where she wanted him. Camille doesn't suffer his teasing laying back. But the dress is nice and she doesn't want to stretch the fabric and wrinkle it. So James is free to go as slow as he wants, Camille's breathy keening doing nothing to push him along.

The urge to grip on becomes too much, sweaty palms sliding on the leather until fingers grasp at the edge of the seat. Camille kicks her feet out, ineffectually thumping against the door across from her and then back, heels grazing at James' back. James just grabs at her thighs and spreads her out even further. Camille arches up, pushing into James' mouth.

Camille's panting out an unconscious steady stream of, "Please, please, please," now muffled from where James is hearing them. He teases until he doesn't, from one second to another going from not enough to too much. James licks right where she needs it and slips two fingers into her.

She's not going to last long, the whole night a long series of foreplay. Camille's voice goes high and thready, words disintegrated into indistinguishable, needy sounds. Camille's thighs are trembling under James's hands, her hands clenched so tight her knuckles are white against the black leather of the limo's bench, and then she's coming apart, too lost in the total, consuming waves of it to notice the details.

Camille shakes in the aftermath, breathing slow and heavy. James hasn't moved, fingers still inside her, still and unmoving. When she can breathe and move, she lifts her skirt to look down at James. "Hey," she says, low and hoarse.

He looks up at her, face wet from his actions. "You're not done," he says, hitching his fingers.

"James, come on," Camille keens. It's too much too soon and James knows it.

That doesn't stop him. Instead, he dips his head back down so his mouth can join where his fingers have started moving in and out again. Camille watches him. James loves it, lapping at her like he can't get enough. She knows he can't, because it's the same way she feels about him. She's been with other people where the sex becomes routine. Not James. They've just gotten better, learning each other's bodies without losing the thrill of the first time.

James brings his thumb up to rub at her clit. Camille's head falls back, eyes clenching shut.

When Camille is with James, her stomach flutters with anticipation of what he has planned. Is it that James is going to drag her into the coatroom at whatever event they're at, unable to keep his hands off of her for even one more second? Or maybe he'll pin her to the wall the second they get home, making it through the whole night just to fuck in the foyer.

Unless of course she's the one plotting for the evening, which gives her a totally different fluttering of power and excitement.

It's those thoughts, all that they've done, all that they are, and all that they'll be, as much as James's actions that tip her over the edge the second time, ripples of warmth sparking along her nerve endings. James sits back on the floor of the limo, pulling away, leaving Camille's legs to splay around him. He ruins another pocket square, using it to wipe off his face and hand.

Camille's boneless and tired, opening her eyes feels like scaling a mountain. "Come 'ere," she says, giving the empty space next to her a lethargic pat.

James scrambles up to sit next to her again, and Camille immediately curls into his warmth, her head coming to rest on his chest and her legs curling into his lap.

"You have the best ideas," James says, smoothing the fabric of her dress down over her legs.

"Umhm," Camille mumbles her agreement, already half asleep. "Wake me when we get home."

James gets a thrill when Camille says that. It's technically James's place, even though Camille's there almost as much as he is when he's in town. But maybe soon that won't be the case. "Okay," he says, wrapping his arm around her, settling back into the seat for the rest of the ride.


End file.
